


juxtaposition

by star_child



Series: The Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows [10]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Bullying, Car Accidents, Headaches & Migraines, Homophobia, M/M, Major Character Injury, Minor Character Death, Muteness, Queerplatonic Relationships, Sexual Harassment, Smoking, mentions of - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-25
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2019-02-20 01:50:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13136628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/star_child/pseuds/star_child
Summary: (jucks-ti-poe-ZISH-un)nounthe fact of two things being seen or placed close together to highlight their differences





	juxtaposition

kenma’s house smells like ramen and cigarettes. it’s entirely unpleasant, but he doesn’t seem bothered, so kuroo stays silent despite the small wrinkle in his nose. a grey cat sits on the stairs in the hazy sunlight, slowly blinks at them once before looking away in dismissal.

“you have a cat,” kuroo blurts out. he’s just turned eight years old, doesn’t yet know how to hold his tongue.

kenma lifts his head, blinks at him much like the cat did. “miso,” he says. looks away again. he’s been seven for about a month now. “she's lazy. like me.”

“you're not lazy,” kuroo says automatically. “are your parents home?”

kenma finally walks into the house, leaving kuroo to shut the door behind him as he toes off his shoes. the smell gets stronger as he follows him down the hallway.

he gets a simple, “no,” out of kenma in regards to his parents, doesn't push the matter.

 

a year later, kuroo crouches beside his mother’s chair in the hospital waiting room. she worries at her lip, twists the same lock of unruly black hair around and around and around --

kuroo’s own fingers are buried in his hair as he stares at the space between his shoes, struggling to breathe through the flames licking at his lungs. he keeps replaying what the nurse told them in his mind, over and over and over --

kenma was out driving with his mother, running errands probably. according to eyewitnesses, she was cut off, proceeded to shout at the other driver for the next block or so. she was so distracted that she went straight through the red light at the next intersection. they got hit. the car flipped, rolled down the street before coming to a stop upside down.

his mother died on the scene. they found kenma in the backseat, unconscious, strangled by his seatbelt. he has a broken arm and a concussion for sure, and extensive damage to his throat. he overheard the nurse telling his mother that he was lucky to be alive, though his vocal cords may have been irreparably damaged. he may never be able to speak again.

“tetsu, darling,” his mother murmurs above him, her hand gentle on his back.

he startles to attention, nearly knocking himself over with how quickly he lifts his head. “y – yes!”

“i just talked to the nurse, love. kenma’s awake.”

kuroo shoots to his feet, adrenaline coursing through him. he wants to run, punch something, scream until he’s sure kenma will be able to do the same. but instead he stands in place, stone still despite the fire spreading from his lungs.

his mother stands as well, leads him by the hand out of the waiting room, down the hall, around a corner, into the room.

kenma is lying in the bed, looking tiny and frail surrounded by all the machinery. his left arm is in a red cast, and he’s covered in small scrapes and bruises. but the worst part by far is his  _ neck _ .

it’s a horrible collage of purple and red, thicker in some parts and darker in others, depending, kuroo assumes, on the twisting of the seat belt. the area under his eyes is red as well, and when his eyes snap open, they’re so bloodshot that the whites burn crimson.

they lock onto kuroo with so much intensity that he takes a small step back in surprise, but he counters by immediately lurching forward to the bedside.

“kenma!” he exclaims, and it’s good that his voice cracks instantly because anything louder would have given kenma a migraine. “oh my god, kenma,” he whispers, staring in horror at his best friend.

kenma’s right hand scrabbles along the sheets toward kuroo’s, and he laces his warm fingers with kenma’s cold ones.

_ “kenma,”  _ he whispers again, tears gathering in both of their eyes. he squeezes kuroo’s fingers, mouths his name, and they lapse into silence.

 

fourteen year old kenma points to the object in kuroo’s fingers that he’s been fiddling with, confusion creating a wrinkle between his eyebrows.

fifteen year old kuroo startles a bit, sitting up straighter as his long fingers clutch whatever he’s holding, hiding the shiny black plastic from kenma’s eyes. “oh.” he opens his fingers again, revealing the small object in his palm. “it’s a lighter.”

kenma leans closer to inspect it, noting the tiny metal gear, the red button, the yellow and white  _ bic  _ logo. there have been dozens of them in his own house. he points to kuroo, then makes a thumbs up with each hand, only his fingers don't curl all the way and point directly toward his own chest. he touches his fingertips to the space above his armpits, then points to the lighter before touching the fingers of his right hand to the side of his forehead with his knuckles out. he pulls his hand away, still looking confused.

ever since the doctor confirmed a month after the car accident that kenma’s vocal cords would be permanently disabled, that he would never be able to speak again, the two of them have been learning sign language together. the signs come almost as second nature to them by now.

_ why do you have that? _ kenma had asked.

kuroo turns it over his palm. “i don’t know. i was hanging out with some second years, they said they were going to smoke and asked me if i wanted to.” he watches kenma’s face closely for a reaction, is unsurprised when he finds none. “i said no, but one of them gave me this and i just… didn’t give it back.”

kenma puts his fingers back on the side of his forehead, pulls them away as he closes his hand.  _ why? _

he just shrugs. “i liked it.”

 

it still shocks kenma sometimes, even nine years after meeting, how quickly kuroo can one eighty.

at the end of the school day, waiting for kuroo, kenma finds himself pinned against the wall in front of the high school, surrounded by three boys kuroo’s age: a soccer player, a basketball player, and a boy he doesn't think does sports. but they're all tall, strong with that physical  _ presence _ that kenma has always lacked.

“what's the matter,  _ faggot,” _ one of them hisses, sneer only centimeters from kenma’s face, “i only asked you a question. it's polite to answer. unless…” that awful smile curls higher up one side of his face. “what is it? cat got your tongue?” the boys all laugh for a second before the one in front shoots his hand out, grabbing kenma by the jaw. he makes a small, breathy noise of shock, then the boy’s thumb and forefinger are digging into his bottom row of teeth, forcing his mouth open.

the boys in the back howl with laughter as their friend turns kenma’s head from side to side, laughing to himself.

“nope,” he finally announces, throwing kenma’s head away so it hits the brick of the wall. he clutches the back with his hands and grits his teeth. “tongue is still in there, boys. looks like he's just lacking manners.” kenma’s not sure if he genuinely doesn’t know that he can’t speak, or if he’s just being a dick about it.

one of the boys in the back clicks his tongue, shakes his head.

“we’re your senpai, little kitten, don't you think you should show more respect?” the other one coos.

“i think we should teach him a lesson, don't you?” the one in front says.  _ soccer players. _ he makes a mental note to never make friends with any. (not that he’s going out and making friends anyway.) “and we’ll see what that tongue can do…”

all three of them laugh. kenma feels like throwing up.

“get on your knees!” the soccer player demands, shoving him down by one shoulder. kenma stumbles, tries to maneuver himself to the side to get away, but the two in the back swoop forward to surround him, blocking all sides.

he's shoved to his knees, and then everything happens at once. one of the boys fists his hand in kenma’s hair, gripping it tight enough to burn as the soccer player unzips his uniform pants. he hears a distant shout, the sound of running feet, smells a lighter and the leather of an old jacket, and then the soccer player is being yanked backward.

he catches a glimpse of red sunglasses perched on dyed black hair, the flash of black and silver rings pierced through cartilage, but his eyes are focused on the fist flying into the soccer player’s face. he stumbles but doesn't go down, aims a sloppy punch back at kuroo’s midsection that he easily dodges. one more punch to the nose and the boy is on the ground.

kuroo whirls around to the other two, eyes smoldering with seventeen years of fire. “let go of him,” he says quietly, a razor’s edge on his voice. the hand in kenma's hair releases immediately. “now get out of here.”

the boys hesitate, shuffling on their feet as they glance between each other and their friend on the ground.

“GO!” kuroo roars, and they immediately scramble off.

kuroo doesn't even waste a second glaring after them, instead he's immediately on kenma, kneeling down and reaching for him slowly.

“are you okay?” he asks, voice slow and soft. kenma shudders, shakes his head. he would say yes, but his whole head is aching something awful. kuroo reaches out, brushes his fingers across either side of kenma's jaw. the touch is fleeting, hardly there at all. “it's already bruising,” he murmurs. “baby, what did they do to you?”

he shakes his head again. kuroo had arrived before anything truly bad could happen.

“let's just go home then, yeah?”

kenma nods, takes kuroo's outstretched hand and allows himself to be pulled to his feet. they walk home hand in hand.

 

perception is a funny thing.

to others, kuroo appears brash, aggressive and even violent. he always looks like he's about to cause trouble.

(and he does, when someone makes the mistake of leaving him alone with bokuto, or if he gets particularly bored in school. chem class? all those chemicals? forget it. he's only saved from being kicked out because he's never gotten lower than a 95%.)

he plays with lighters and listens to music in class, flips off teachers to their backs and their faces, and has never apologized.

he’s fierce, loyal, bored enough to get into fights, strong enough to finish them. he earns himself bruises and detentions for his troubles, as well as a reputation, but none of that matters to him.

he fights to defend. to defend himself against people trying to start meaningless shit, to defend kenma from people picking on him for his appearance or muteness, to defend literally anyone he sees being harassed. the school practically as his mother on speed dial, but he never gets in trouble with her as long as he promises he didn’t start anything, that he was only defending.

but as reckless and rough as he may act and appear, there is another side to him. a side that moves slow and gentle, in light touches and languid smiles.

when they're at home, kuroo kisses his mother and helps her cook dinner, sings along to the radio and makes sure kenma does his homework. he sits with him at seven in the morning, two in the afternoon, five in the evening, three thirty in the morning to calm him down from a panic attack, or just to keep him company, keep him warm.

kenma’s own house is so cold, so devoid of any love or compassion that kuroo wonders how he can stand to go back there at the end of the day. so he lets the younger boy watch movies on his couch, eat at his table, curl up in his bed. he deserves someone gentle, a light hand to coax him along, take care of him.

when they're in kuroo’s room, curled up on the bed, kuroo’s head in his lap as dozes to the soft noise of netflix, kenma thinks this must be an entirely different person.

 

there’s a third side to kuroo.

forty five percent of the time he’s Kuroo, all sharp mint and snarky smiles, bruised knuckles and leather and lighter fluid.

forty five percent of the time he’s kenma’s Kuro, all warm smiles and loud laughter, soft and teasing and maybe-mischievous.

sometimes, just the last ten percent of the time, he is tetsu. he is tired and grumpy, sad and prone to isolation. kenma doesn’t like to let him to be alone when he gets like this, but usually that’s all kuroo wants. kenma suspects he might get migraines, but he can hardly get kuroo to talk when he’s like this, much less discuss it later on.

it happens on saturday, around noon when kenma is clicking through snapchat stories and watching hinata and kageyama race tanaka and noya in a shopping cart race down some poor department store aisle on tsukishima’s story. they both narrowly avoid crashing and there's a blurry shot of yamaguchi laughing at the end.

his friends are hanging out with people. _he_ should be hanging out with people. it’s unusual for kuroo to go so long without pestering him to do _something_ on a weekend, to go into the city or watch a movie or just do homework.

kenma closes snapchat, opens his texts with kuroo.

to: kuro (=♡ᆺ♡=)  
12:14 pm  
_hey_

the stupid cat emoji had been kuroo’s idea when he was thirteen and kenma was twelve. he’s never bothered to get rid of it.

to: kuro (=♡ᆺ♡=)  
12:26 pm  
_heeeyyyyy_

to: kuro (=♡ᆺ♡=)  
12:31 pm  
_kuro?_

to: kuro (=♡ᆺ♡=)  
12:31 pm  
_are you okay?_

he sighs in relief when his phone buzzes in response a minute later, but it’s short lived.

from: kuro (=♡ᆺ♡=)  
12:33 pm  
_i’m fine_

while the words themselves are reassuring, it’s enough to tell that kuroo is clearly not fine. if he was, he’d send some teasing remark about how it was nice to know that kenma still cared, followed by a long ass paragraph about  _ exactly _ what he’d been up to since the last time they talked. a reassurance on its own was never good.

to: kuro (=♡ᆺ♡=)  
12:34 pm  
_i’m coming over_

kuroo’s mother welcomes him like her own child, her tone quickly turning subdued after her initial greeting. “he hasn’t come out of his room all day,” she murmurs, tucking her own crazy black hair behind one ear. “it’d be nice if you could get him to eat something, but just… keep him company, if that’s all you can do.”

it’s worse than he thought, then.

kuroo’s room is cold and too bright when kenma enters. he’d think it was empty, too, if not for the rising and falling of the messy bed as the older boy breathes. kenma gets to work. he closes the heavy blinds that perch on the edges of his windows, effectively muting the light in the room to something much more tolerable.

there’s an electric radiator sitting against the wall in the corner – the house is new enough to have internal heating, but old enough or renovated enough that for some reason, kuroo’s room doesn’t have a vent. the thing has always freaked kenma out for some inexplicable reason, but he tiptoes over and turns it on to the lowest setting before scampering away.

finally, kuroo sticks his head out from the top of his blanket cocoon, hair wilder than ever, not enough light in the room to make his earrings or eyes glint.

“kenma?” he mumbles, drowsy and unsure.

kenma reaches out to smooth some of the hair off his forehead.  _ it’s me, _ he wants to say,  _ i’m here. _ instead of speaking like he so badly wants to, he makes a c shape with his hand, thumb and fingers pointing up, and drags it from his sternum to his stomach, then points at kuroo.  _ are you hungry? _

kuroo’s eyebrows furrow, and he groans. “did my fucking mom send you up here?” he demands weakly, rolling over and reburying himself. “i’ve been telling her all day, if i eat i’m gonna fuckin throw it back up.”

kenma shrinks. kuroo is very rarely angry, at least when he’s not about to fight someone, and kenma doesn’t really know how to deal with it. so he does what his mom suggested he do, and keeps him company.

at first he just sits down on the floor, pulling his ds out of his pocket and fiddling with it for a while. then it gets too cold, even with the radiator on, and he grows tired of kuroo’s petulance. he stands, considers the way he’s  _ pretty sure  _ kuroo is pressed to the wall, then lifts the blankets without warning, sending a rush of cold air against kuroo’s bare back.

_ “fuck,”  _ he hisses in annoyance, then immediately falls silent when kenma slides into the empty space, warm body wrapping itself around kuroo’s torso. kenma buries his nose in the nape of his neck, huffing the dyed hairs there out of his mouth as he presses his lips to the top notch of kuroo’s spine.

they lay there silently, until kuroo’s breath evens out and the room warms up, and then even longer.


End file.
